Versus
by naboru narluin
Summary: In which Motormaster is a little out of touch with reality, and Blast Off teaches a lesson. / Blast Off, Motormaster, Thundercracker / gen, violence, fighting, severe injuries


**Title:** Versus  
**Continuity:** G1 (part of ultharkitty's Dysfunction AU)  
**Warnings:** gen, violence, fighting, severe injuries  
**Characters:** Blast Off, Motormaster, Thundercracker  
**Prompt:** Playing with Kids (& Competition, claimed by **artemis10002000**)  
**Rating:** PG-13  
**Summary:** In which Motormaster is a little out of touch with reality, and Blast Off teaches a lesson.  
**Disclaimer:** Sadly, I own nothing.  
**Beta:** ultharkitty, thank you so very much! *glomps* :D

**Note:** Written for the _28 Blast Off meme_.  
References to **ultharkitty**'s fics It's not who we are that's important, it's what we represent/On His Knees and Attention. Can totally be read as stand-alone, though. ;)

* * *

**Versus**

It was late.

Blast Off's night shift would begin soon, and the rec-room had been almost empty when he'd gone there to get his energon ration.

With half of the ration still in his cube - not half a cube, because the Decepticons had to save energon - he stood in front of the main elevator. The lights had been dimmed during times when only a few mechs were awake in another energy-saving measure.

Sipping from the cube, Blast Off was deep in thought. He didn't notice someone walking up to him, and he had no idea how long the mech had stood there when a dark, hollow voice growled.

"You better stay away from my team."

Blast Off didn't need to turn to know that it was Motormaster next to him. The grey-purple plating he perceived in his peripheral vision, and the voice almost on the verge to rage which even he noticed, were enough for him to know.

The shuttle shrugged. In the rec-room, he had talked to that red Stunticon, but it hadn't been important.

When Blast Off didn't answer, Motormaster growled again. "Did you hear me? If I see you talking to Dead End again, you'll regret it."

At this, Blast Off actually bothered to turn his head a little. "I won't ask you for permission to talk to anyone." His voice showed how unimpressed he was, the usual condescension even more present. What did the grounder think he was? A patronising huff vented by shuttle intakes, then Blast Off added, "I won't ask. And obviously your team won't either."

This had been the wrong thing to say. Blast Off knew it the instant the fist connected with his battle mask. The sudden, unexpected punch caused him to stumble, energon spilling from the cube to the ground and his armour.

Behind his visor, Blast Off frowned.

It didn't actually hurt. The little dent in his battle mask was the only damage, but it didn't improve Blast Off's mood in the slightest. Or help to change his opinion about the Stunticon leader.

His engine growled as he turned to the bulky mech.

Motormaster was about as big as Onslaught, smaller than Blast Off, but not by much. It was different with their strength, however. Being a shuttleformer, he was built for bad conditions and surroundings, resulting in him being stronger in root-mode than his gestalt leader, and therefore stronger than Motormaster as well. He didn't intend to make use of it, though.

"You'll listen to me now?" Motormaster growled again, coming closer.

Blast Off took a step back. Optics flicked through the corridor. One step more, and he was trapped in the edge between the elevator and the wall.

"You worthless piece of scrap!" Motormaster bellowed, and lashed out. This time, Blast Off dodged, ducking under the other's arm, he slipped into the Hallway. He still kept quiet.

For Blast Off, there was no reason to talk.

For Motormaster, apparently, there was.

"I'm gonna beat the attitude out of you!" Motormaster's voice was loud in the hallway. It made Blast Off wince. Not because of the words, he wasn't scared of the Stunticon, but because of the sound waves pounding like an echo in the small corridor.

Blast Off had no doubt, however, that Motormaster meant what he said. Even for the indifferent shuttle it was obvious that he had a bad temper, and it was only confirmed by the grey-purple mech pouncing again.

Blast Off evaded being hit, bringing his scanners online. Mapping out the other's systems, from the speed of a punch to estimated hydraulic pressure, his HUD filled with data. It was easier to dodge that way; his processor was quicker to measure what Motormaster would do next.

Blast Off dodged another hit by a fist, and a kick to his abdomen, ducking, stepping back, turning around. His back was pressed to the wall now, and he growled.

"Stay still, you piece of slag. I'm your commander!" Motormaster spat.

Blast Off's engine revved dangerously.

Just because Motormaster was a gestalt leader didn't make him Blast Off's commander. Although technically, he was his superior, Blast Off wouldn't let Motormaster pull rank on him. He wasn't going to follow orders of a mere grounder fresh from the assembly line.

Though, Blast Off was also sure Motormaster wouldn't stop before one of them lay on the ground.

Another punch, and Blast Off let himself drop down. Motormaster's fist dented the wall, the sound of metal against metal almost drowning out the Stunticon's voice. "Coward!" he spat when Blast Off suppressed the urge to hit the plating in front him, and moved away from the wall and Motormaster with a few swift steps.

"You will not talk to my team again!" Motormaster eyed him up, vents working quickly from rage and fighting.

Blast Off knew he was thinking, and the shuttle expected the other to draw his gun. Keeping his scanners on the mech, his optics on the measures, he said, voice flat. "I didn't talk to him. He asked, and I answered." And it was true.

"Nonsense!" Motormaster cycled him, Blast Off did the same, awaiting another attack any moment.

The shuttle wasn't fond of close combat, but this didn't mean he was bad at it. He'd fought battles on planets long before the war had started, with enemies which weren't as predictable as other Cybertronians. It hadn't been for any greater purpose, it had been about survival. It was an odd sensation to feel his joints tense again, with the anticipation which he hadn't felt for quite a while.

Though, Blast Off knew, this wasn't only about surviving this encounter. The other's voice and possession towards the Stunticons and superior attitude towards Blast Off's team, it grated on him.

Blast Off loathed his gestalt. The forced bond and loss of individuality. He loathed that he was bound to _them _of all mechs, but he knew it had to be. He knew it was their only chance to survive. And he knew none of them would bow down to anyone unless their loyalty program forced them to.

"You're a wimp, like Starscream!" Motormaster growled, optics roving as though searching a way to actually land a hit this time. "You're rebuilt from scrap metal, you're worth _nothing_!" As predicted, Motormaster jumped.

Blast Off's engine rumbled, and he accepted being hit. The other's fist collided with his abdominal plating, but his armour hardly budged under the pressure. Due to mass shifting and the need to fit his alt-mode into the stature of his root-mode, two thick layers of compressed metal protected delicate circuitry and systems.

He did feel the punch; the pain was only superficial, though, and he carried on with the plan he'd made up while the other was talking.

Motormaster winced when Blast Off grabbed the Stunticon's upper arm tightly, holding him close. The fingers of the other hand closed around the thick throat, digging between cables, searching for the vocaliser that Onslaught had damaged before.

It was then that Motormaster's force field switched on, but Blast Off didn't allow the acidic buzz on sensor nodes to interfere. It even helped his scanners to locate the force field generator.

Another growl from the Stunticon, staticky as his vocal circuitry was stressed under pressure. "You should have stayed imprisoned until your components had begun to rust!"

At that, Blast Off's optics twitched. The force on the vocaliser increased, and he aligned his weapon, then fired. His cannon was at a low setting, not particularly to spare the ship or the Stunticon, but he'd spilt half his energon ration he needed to save energy. The shot was still strong enough to tear through Motormaster's force field and lower arm, penetrate it and hit the ceiling. The smell of scorched metal filled the air; a pained noise emitted by a partly damaged vocaliser as the force field wavered.

Motormaster tried to free himself, tugging at his arm, his free hand clenched around Blast Off's wrist.

The shuttle didn't let him.

He forced the Stunticon against the wall, and raised his knee, kicking up twice into the same place, Motormaster growled. Then Blast Off let go of the arm, and punched the other's side. The force field flickered, and gave in after a second hit.

Blast Off hardly ever let his anger get the better of him, but the Stunticon leader had tested his patience for too long. It wasn't the kind of annoyance which made him shoot Vortex, or hit Brawl over the head. It was sheer cold anger. At Motormaster, and his team.

Blast Off wasn't going to allow the Stunticons to mess with him or the Combaticons. He wasn't going to allow them to take away what was _his_. And he wasn't going to allow Motormaster to leave without learning a lesson.

"Maybe you should think about why we were in prison in the first place," he said coldly.

Motormaster's optics widened, but Blast Off didn't feel the satisfaction which Vortex might have when the meaning slowly sank in.

Blast Off didn't care. He crushed the vocaliser.

Static filled the hallway, then it ebbed away.

The rage and hate in the Stunticon's optics was so clear; it didn't leave any doubt what Motormaster was thinking, and even Blast Off knew.

It was also clear that it wasn't over yet.

Just in time, Blast Off realised what Motormaster was doing. The Stunticon took out his sword with his damaged hand, and struck down. Letting go of the other, Blast Off leapt back., raising his arm, and the blade struck the heat shield. It cracked, and the sword entered it, but got stuck before it could slice the circuits beneath.

Blast Off's optics brightened in anger, yanking his arm around, the blade still stuck. The sudden move caused Motormaster let go of the sword. It clattered to the ground, and before Motormaster could reach for his gun, Blast Off kicked him against the wall.

The Stunticon staggered.

Blast Off lashed out, hard. Leading with heat shield, his lower arm crashed against the Stunticon's face plates with as much force as Blast Off could manage. The second heat shield broke as well; he flung Motormaster to the ground.

Purple optics flickered, seemingly unable to focus as the Stunticon tried to get back to his feet. With his arm damaged, and his equilibrium obviously failing; it was futile.

Blast Off took his time. Leg cannons still humming, he reached for the sword on the ground, then stepped to the other. He ended another attempt to stand up by smashing his foot onto Motormaster's intakes. Metal creaked, ventilation systems rattled and Blast Off felt the vibration of them in his wings.

Blast Off stared down.

Motormaster stared back.

The shuttle wanted the other to know that he could kill him. Waiting a few astroseconds in which Motormaster didn't move at all, Blast Off had enough when a grey hand clutched at his wing.

Wordlessly, Blast Off powered his thruster, let the flame burn circuits, melt cables and energon lines. Metal heated, and began to glow.

Motormaster's face contorted into a grimace of pain. Sparks emerged from his throat where the damaged vocaliser tried to produce sounds.

Blast Off didn't care. He let his thruster burn for a few more astroseconds, but the door to the elevator opened, and three mechs stepped out. Guns drawn, a seeker's arms raised, null rays pointing at him.

Blast Off stopped the burn, and lifted his foot from the broken mech.

"Don't move! Put that sword away!" one of the three said, it was one of Soundwave's cassettes. Blast Off didn't know his name, but he raised an optical ridge.

Then he shrugged, and slammed the sword into the ground next to Motormaster's head. This time, he felt the satisfaction when the three mechs winced. He didn't show it, though. Raising his hands, he stepped away from Motormaster.

* * *

Thundercracker vented air deeply when he entered the brig complex. He had an energon cube in his hand; he had to bring Blast Off his ration.

The shuttle had been locked away for two days already, and wasn't about to get out until Megatron agreed to it.

The shuttle had accepted his punishment in silence, the visor and battle mask hiding an expression which Thundercracker guessed wasn't even there. Blast Off wasn't known for his temper, let alone emotional responses.

At least that was what Thundercracker had always thought. Having seen the Stunticon leader broken like that, he wondered what had happened. But maybe nothing much had happened at all. Considering the past of both combiners, they weren't at best terms. And it wasn't even their fault. It was like them fighting an internal war between Megatron and Starscream.

The usual bickering and fighting of the warlord and his second in command hadn't stopped even after Blast Off had been brought to the brig, and Thundercracker had noticed Starscream sneering for an astrosecond or two. It was no secret that he'd most likely been happy about the news of Motormaster being beaten into medbay.

Another deep vent turned into a sigh as Thundercracker reached the cell.

Blast Off sat on the berth, reading from a datapad - as always - seeming not dangerous at all.

"Your energon," Thundercracker said, and disabled a few energon bars. They onlined again the moment he'd stepped through, placing the cube on the table. At that, Blast Off looked up, and nodded.

Thundercracker frowned. "Why did you attack Motormaster?" He couldn't help but ask. When Megatron had asked him, he'd said it was self-defence, but it didn't explain all the damage. But then, Blast Off couldn't have lied...

"He attacked me first."

This answer had to be expected. Thundercracker pressed on, "And that's why he's still in medbay and you almost burnt his laser core?"

A huff, so condescending that if it had been directed at Thundercracker he would have become angry. "It was either him or me."

Thundercracker left the cell. What had he expected? Shuttleformers always had been aloof and patronising, looking down on everyone. There wasn't a chance in the pit Blast Off would have let a grounder leave without letting him know that he was built for a higher purpose, right?

Though, the shuttle never had struck Thundercracker as especially brutal. And this all left more questions. Maybe Thundercracker was just too curious, though, because he added, "But you did compromise Onslaught's rank while doing so."

Onslaught had lost against Motormaster. For the Combaticon leader to have someone who was stronger than him under him, it probably wasn't easy to maintain his rank.

But Blast Off merely looked at Thundercracker, tilting his head and keeping quiet for over a klik. Eventually, he answered. "If Onslaught had been there and ordered me to stop, I would have. He knows." His optics dropped back to the datapad, signalling that the conversation was over.

Thundercracker tensed when the implications sank in. He understood what Blast Off meant, maybe because like Thundercracker, he left many thoughts unspoken, and he could understand his train of thought.

Blast Off followed Onslaught despite being stronger than him, and he freely admitted it. It also implied that, without the loyalty program, he wouldn't follow Megatron at all. Thundercracker's ailerons flicked slightly. He, too, didn't agree to all of Megatron's orders, but he'd come to terms with the situation long ago.

The Combaticons had been the only ones who had deceived Megatron, and almost succeeded. And now they were free again. They might be under Megatron's control, kept on a leash, but woe betide they cut that off.

In Thundercracker's opinion, the Combaticons were dangerous, too dangerous to the Decepticon cause, and definitely more than Starscream. They should have been deactivated the moment Megatron had the chance. But Megatron was as deluded as Starscream was blinded by lust for power.

The seeker sighed. Megatron could only hope the Combaticons would continue being as dysfunctional as they seemed.

If this wasn't some part of one of Onslaught's plans as well...

Without another word, Thundercracker left the brig.


End file.
